l for a little, while I bided so still that not a
leaf moved; then he went on his way, like a creature sick or drunk, and he
passed into the gardens and disappeared from sight.

I waited till he was properly gone, and after that I got back in the woods
and returned to the river. Always a neat and tidy man--as poachers mostly
are--I took the hayrake back to the field and wound up my lines. Then I
went home, for 'twas peep of day by now, and I felt I'd done a very proper
night's work, and wondered if there'd ever be anything to show for it.

Well, there wasn't--in fact, it looked much as if I'd done a miracle for
nothing. Days passed by. Squire Champernowne got buried with a proper
flare-up, and we heard that Mr. Cranston Champernowne was heir to
Woodcotes and the farms and all. And next time I was out and about on the
river according to my custom, I heard the owl hollering, and I said to the
owl: "You and me had our trouble for nought, my old dear, for 'tis very
clear he wouldn't listen to us. He was a hard case and a bad lot, and 'tis
no good honest folk like you and me putting a man into the straight road
if he won't bide in it."

And the owl--he goes--"Hoo-hoo-hoo!"--laughing like.

II

Two full years passed afore the end of my tale. The new Squire did very
wisely, and was highly thought upon. He ruled well, for he had an old head
on young shoulders, and he was a good landlord and a patient, sensible,
and kind-hearted chap. He got engaged to be married also, and seemed so
bright and cheerful as need be, and good friends with his brother
Lawrence, and popular with high and low. Yet right well I knowed there was
a cruel canker at his heart, for no well-born man could do the thing he'd
done and not smart to his dying day and feel all his prosperity was
poison. Not to mention the terrible shock as he had got from me on the
night after his uncle's death.

I felt sure, somehow, as the truth would come out, and that I should hear
more about that coorious evening. And so I did, but 'twas in a manner very
different from what I guessed or expected. In a word, to be quite honest
about it, I got into smart trouble myself one night--in October 'twas, and
a brave year for pheasants. The chaps at Woodcotes outwitted me for the
fust time in their lives, and cut short my little games. They set a trap
for me, and I got catched. There's no need to dwell upon the details, but
I found myself surrounded by six of 'em, and knowing ve